


Still

by timeaeus



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Topping from the Bottom, Trans Character, Transstuck, jake tops???? idk??, just gimme the attention man, thats in there i think, they fuck thats it, trans!dirk strider, yeahhhh its been so long since i tagged anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 23:17:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5685292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeaeus/pseuds/timeaeus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Half an hour ago, his lips first graced your knuckles. His breath was hot but even, gentle on your skin. Now, his spine arcs under your touch, shoulders tight and hips writhing and hands white in the sheets. He’s beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still

**Author's Note:**

> bro i havent published anything in so fuckin long this is surreal
> 
> anyways this is extremely fucking self-indulgent, im gay, etc. i have too many mixed feelings about this pair to be writing a fic for it, but that didnt stop me now did it,
> 
> i mostly listened to shameless and aquainted by the weeknd while writing this, it kind of fits but not entirely or maybe at all.....but anyways if you want to listen to those songs it might be some Gud Background Music lmao

It’s fascinating how easily he crumbles once a few cracks have been chipped in his wall of composure. He’s stiff and still and strong for so long, not bending or breaking, and you have to watch with hawk eyes for the minute changes, the slightest weaknesses that you can latch onto and work at until he’s melting through your fingers. 

Half an hour ago, his lips first graced your knuckles. His breath was hot but even, gentle on your skin. Now, he sucks on your fingers like he wants you to get them as far into his throat as you can, make him choke and gag. His throat vibrates with broken vocalizations that he no longer minds making. His spine arcs under your touch, shoulders tight and hips writhing and hands white in the sheets. He’s beautiful.

You love, adore that he lets you do this to him even when it borders on too much. He puts too much power in your hands to do what you will with him, because he simply doesn’t care. He’d bend over backwards to make you touch him, or just to look at him, he’d hold his breath until he passed out if you asked. He’s not one to beg, with his words at least, but you’ll eventually reduce him down to nothing but whispered pleas and shaking limbs. You don’t dare to take advantage of this, no more than he wants you to, at least. 

You know what he wants is for you to keep him like this, make him choke on air for you, drive him out of his mind for you, make a complete mess of him and pick him apart to the atoms he’s made of. He wants your hand on his throat, keeping him still when your commands fail to. 

You give it, then you take it back and watch him crack a little more, closer and closer to breaking. 

“Dirk, I thought I told you to stay still.” It doesn’t sound like an order or an admonishment- you’re not quite capable of that. Instead, it’s murmured, like a question, but Dirk knows your intent and forces his hips to still. He’ll forget again in a few minutes- his flawless control over his body is no more when you get him like this. 

It’s an art that’s taken you a long time to perfect, a part of him that he wouldn’t let out if it wasn’t you. 

You slide your hand down his spine, stopping at the lowest point of his back where your palm fits flat and comfortable. You slip your fingers out of his mouth and he whines. His lips, slick, stay parted and waiting for you to give him your hand back. You don’t think he’s noticed that he’s drooling. A gag would serve him well, you think, but the idea makes you nervous. You want him to be able to speak if he has to, it doesn’t feel safe if he can’t. You trust him and you trust yourself, but you’re not always the most...observant. 

There’s no point of contact between the two of you now. He can feel your weight behind him, but he doesn’t turn to look at you. His head stays bowed, shoulders trembling with the effort of staying as still as he can for you. You admire him for a moment, he’s strong and sharp like a knife but elegant in ways you could never hope to be.

He’s good. You lean over and tell him so, kissing right between his shoulder blades. He twitches and you smile. You watch him breathe for a moment, the way his muscles move with even the slightest changes mesmerising you, then shift back. Slowly, you place your hands on his calves, just under his knee. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. He feels like fire. You brush your thumbs against the soft inside of his knees on your way up, moving very, very slowly along his thighs. He’s twitchy and trembly but refuses to break. You murmur how good he is again. The loudest sound is his breathing, which he tries so hard to keep in check.

There’s a long moment when your hands stop, and you can feel how badly he wants you to touch him. There’s heat radiating off of every inch of him. 

When you touch him, just a little off the mark, he makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a whine. You trace the very tip of your finger around where he wants it most, one hand still resting on his inner thigh. Your thumb slides over him, just barely pressing against him. 

He’s slick and soaking, you’re not sure if his mouth or his cunt is wetter. 

You hate that word, just thinking it makes you feel weird. This isn’t what you’re supposed to be focusing on though, because Dirk is moving again. You remove your hand and put it firmly on his hip. You can see the shiver that runs down his spine and feel him struggling to control himself. 

“Fuck, Jake-”

He talks when his focus breaks, a constant stream of murmured please and muddles versions of your name, plenty of curses tossed in. It’s almost too quiet for you to hear, usually. You’ll talk too, your nerves always getting the better of you and making you run your mouth, asking him what he wants, if this is all he needs (when you know it’s not), what would happen if you just took your touch away and left him. You don’t know exactly where you get the words from, but he eats it up and soaks in it even when you tease him so much his eyes water and his arms give out. 

“Shh, Dirk. Don’t move and I’ll give you what you want.” You slide your hand between his legs again, pressing your fingers against him. You feel him press down in return, then catch himself and freeze, then twitch and do it again. You still won’t touch his clit. You lean over him, making little circles with your fingers, knowing it’s getting to him that he can feel it but it’s not quite right, and press your lips to his spine. Your voice is low, gravelly. “What do you want?”

His spine curves, hips twitching. You don’t withdraw, you don’t mind. You like to see him squirm, the only reason you restrict him is because you know how much he loves it. He moans your name, curses, tries to tell you “I want- fuck- I want you to-” You cut him off by pressing against his clit, then grinning catlike move away again.

“You want what?”

“Fuck, touch me again-”

“I am touching you, pal.” He’d cringe at you for calling him pal when you’ve got your hands all up in his junk if he wasn’t so out of it. The power he gives you goes to your head just a little, maybe.

“Fuck, Jake, please-” You cut him off, again, pressing fingers to his lips. He lets you into his mouth automatically and his tongue traces over your skin hot and soft and wet. He sucks like his mouth is on your cock and not your fingers. You let him beg with his touch and not his words. When you rub his clit again he stiffens and melts, nearly in the same instant.

He moans around you, he tries to keep his hips steady but he’s forgetting how to control himself altogether and you don’t let up until he’s writhing and gasping, forgetting what he was doing with your fingers in his mouth every few seconds. 

Then you pull away and he chokes, head dropping and toes curling. His hips jerk once, trying to lure you back. His back curves when you slide your hand all the way up his spine, curl your fingers in his hair and gently crane his head back. He looks up at you, lids heavy and lashes fluttering, lower lip between his teeth. He lets it go when you lean in and kisses you back as best he can. Desperation is etched in every line of his body and apparent in every movement he makes. 

When you pull away there’s a line of spit between your mouths, which is kind of disgustingly hot. You breathe heavily and heavenly with him for a moment, feeling every one of his tiny shifts. You try not to grind against him. 

You instruct him to turn over. He holds himself up so he can kiss you, pressing his open mouth to every inch of your skin he can reach. His palms are warm against your neck, your shoulders, your chest. He leans forward and you lean back, letting him mouth his way down your body. You thread your fingers through his hair again when he’s hovering right over your cock and bite your lip, fighting the urge to force him down on you (even though he’d probably like that). 

Dirk pants heavily over you, his tongue traces over his lips and you’re barely breathing when his eyes flick up to meet yours. They’re a little unfocused but still manage to drill straight to your core and when he takes you in his mouth his gaze is unrelenting. Your grip in his hair tightens and your eyes flutter shut even as you try to keep them open so you can look at him. 

He swallows around you right off the bat, making your toes curl and your brows knit together. You’re worried he’s going to make himself choke on you, he needs to slow down- but he doesn’t and his mouth is fire that spreads through you via your veins to the very tips of your extremities, and you make no move to stop him. 

He moans around you and the vibrations make your hips buck. You feel him gag then, and hear it too, and loosen your grip in his hair immediately. He pulls back breathing heavily, coughs once and looks back up at you. There’s drool down his chin and he’s already trying to get his tongue on you again. He’s a beautiful mess. You pet his hair and he leans into your touch and looks up at you with half-closed eyes that make you melt. 

You brush your thumbs over his lips and he sucks it into his mouth for a moment. You press against his tongue for a moment, then let him pull away and slide back down onto your cock.

His hands splay on either side of you and he puts his mouth anywhere he can reach, takes as much of you in as he can- which is nearly all of you because he refuses to stop until he can be The Best. You moan his name, not missing the way one of his hands slips out of your sight when you do, presumably between his legs. His hips rock and he groans around you again and you do your best not to jerk down his throat again. 

He swallows and, fuck, you’re suddenly really close to tipping over the edge. You run your hands through his hair and try to gesture for him to get off. “Dirk,” you breathe. He looks up at you again, not stopping or even slowing. You speak between gasps. “If you don’t stop I’m going to come- Dirk, hey- oh, fuck…” His hand wraps around you and his tongue won’t let up. You try to hold back but he’s not having it. 

Dammit, you wanted to make him come first.

Your body locks up, spine an arc, grip too firm in Dirk’s hair. You make some sort of indiscriminate noise in your throat and then your joints unhinge and your bones turn to jelly. You fall back on your elbows and pant open-mouthed, trying to catch your breath while your thoughts dissolve into fuzzy static. 

Dirk’s breath on your knuckles slowly draws you back. There’s come trailing from his lips to his chin, your come, and he makes no effort to remove it. You love him, but you don’t understand how he can just let that sit there. His lips ghost over your skin, gently and not sexually, if you ignore the noises he’s making. You’re content to let him hold your hand to his lips and coax your fingers into his mouth again, but you can see his hips rocking into his other hand, and you know he’s trying to hold himself back and wait for you. 

You wrap your free hand around his wrist and pull his hand out of the way. You press your middle and ring fingers against his tongue and slide your others over his cunt. He’s practically dripping. You let your palm press against his clit, relishing in the way he rocks down against it, and push two fingers into him. His thighs shake on either side of you and he leans over, bracing himself with one arm next to your shoulder. He keeps his other hand on yours, holding it to his mouth. His eyes meet yours again, pupils blown wide. 

“Come here,” you instruct, pulling your fingers out of him and putting both hands on his sides (you let the one that was in his mouth trail over his skin first, though). He whines but lets you pull him forwards. You settle with your head between his legs, him hovering right over you. One of his hands runs through your hair. You wrap your arms around his thighs and pull him down, stretching your neck so you can get your mouth on him. He groans when you swipe the flat of your tongue over him, then his voice hitches up an octave when you zero in on his clit and suck. His nails dig into your scalp a little. 

You free one of your arms so you can press your fingers into him again. He clenches around them, hot and tight, and his hips roll incessantly. You feel him shift and then his hand is splayed on your chest. He’s shaking, trying to stay upright, trying not to suffocate you. You refuse to let up, you can hear him cursing and whispering your name with every breath. You wish you could see his face- brows furrowed, mouth open, cheeks red and hair disheveled beyond repair. 

You give a firm suck and he jerks, sharply crying out and pressing down on you. He pulls up a little a moment later but you follow, not letting him escape. You don’t let up until you have him shaking, almost writhing, and that’s when you pull away to “catch your breath.”

“F-fuck, God Jake fuck please fuck,” he gasps. You grin. He’s so close, you could hear it just in his voice even if you couldn’t feel it and see it. He’s shaking so much you don’t know if he can keep himself upright. 

“Sorry love, but you’re moving so much I can’t get my mouth on you properly.” You’re being mean. His hips stutter to a stop. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. He tries so hard to keep still, muscles straining even as he trembles. You cautiously press your mouth to him again. He can handle this, he just has to focus; but slowly, slowly, you spread the fingers you have inside him. He whines flat out and tugs at your hair, but stays almost perfectly steady. 

He lasts through you tracing your tongue over every inch of him (except where he wants you most), just barely twitching when you get close to his clit. He’s not made of stone, though, and when you finally give him what he wants he barely lasts ten seconds. 

When you run your tongue over his clit and spread your fingers in him again his thighs clench and he lurches forward, catching himself on his elbows. 

You pull your fingers out of him; you don’t think you’re mean enough to ask him to sit up and hold still again, but the angle’s not good for face fucking anymore. You direct him onto his back with your hands and hook one of his legs over your shoulders, kissing his knee briefly, then you press your lips to his hip, the inside of his thigh, right above his clit. The sheets are bunched in one of his hands, your hair tangled in the other. 

You press your tongue and fingers against him at the same time. You don’t start off slow or gentle, you fit three fingers in him and crook them and he reacts like you shocked him from the inside out. He’s not looking at you, but you watch the way he curves and twists with rapt attention. You suck and press your tongue against his clit, let him rut against your mouth until finally, he snaps. 

Dirk is nearly silent when he comes, save for a whisper-cry of your name, but his body is not. His back lifts in a nearly perfect arc off the bed and your scalp stings from him tugging your hair. All the tension bleeds out of him moments later in a shudder, and he melts into the sheets. His fingers slide out of your hair and his eyes flutter but don’t open, and the only thing moving are his lungs. 

You untangle yourself and crawl up next to him, settling with only your hands touching. When his eyes open, you touch the side of his face to get him to look at you. You kiss him briefly. He can barely kiss you back, mostly he just breathes with you.

And he gives you a smile, slow and lazy and brilliant, that makes your heart thud harder than it does when you’re about to come. He’s beautiful, all messy hair and melty golden eyes and white teeth and spit and probably come still on his face. You’re sure you’re just as much a mess. 

“I think a shower is in order, don’t you- Hey, now.” His hair tickles your chin and he makes some sort of grumbly noise against your chest in response, strong arms wrapping around your waist. You lost before you even started on that one. It’s okay, though. There’s infinite showers to take but only so many moments where he’ll be this vulnerable around you. 

His hair is soft between your fingers. “Don’t you fall asleep on me.”

“Try ‘n stop me. I’m not fuckin’ moving for at least a week.”

Tragically, you don’t think you’ll be able to pick him up and carry him to the shower. You suppose you’d be alright with lying here for a week. 

Or a month, or forever, or even just the next few minutes because being with him like this just once is more than you ever asked for.


End file.
